


Looks That Kill

by our_pens_are_sharp



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Tagging, Manipulation, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Sansa knows how to play the game of thrones, Sansa-centric, Updating tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/our_pens_are_sharp/pseuds/our_pens_are_sharp
Summary: Sansa returns to Winterfell and is left with the Boltons, Ramsay as her betrothed. Despite what she’s heard of the Bastard of Bolton, Sansa is determined to stay strong and make the best of her situation. Fortunately, she has learned a little about how to deal with crazy husbands from Margaery Tyrell…





	1. Prologue

It felt strange to be back home. Sansa had not been in Winterfell for what felt like an eternity, yet she remembered everything as if she’d never left.

Winterfell looked different now, her precious home. it was obvious that the place had burned not too long ago. It hurt to see the place like that; damaged and broken. Just another reminder that she couldn’t expect everything to go back to how it used to be before King’s Landing.

 

The Boltons greeted her very polite and courteous. It didn’t seem right, Sansa thought, to be greeted in her own home by complete strangers claiming they ruled the place. After everything she’d gone through Sansa had learned not to trust people this easily, but Lord Baelish had assured her she would be safe, so she decided to give them a chance.

The person Sansa was most curious about was Ramsay Bolton. She’d never met him before, only ever heard stories- and not the most positive at that- and now she was supposed to marry the man. She had to admit, he was quite handsome; dark curls, a strong jaw and striking bright eyes. But she knew better than to fall for some good looks. Once upon a time she’d fallen in love with Joffrey Baratheon over his looks and he had costed her father his head.

Those are the people responsible for Robb’s death, Sansa reminded herself, Roose Bolton had killed him with his own hands. There was no way she would ever be able to forgive that man. But Ramsay… maybe Ramsay wasn’t like his father. Maybe there was hope she could get along with her soon to be husband.

 

“My lady”, Ramsay said, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into reality, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Sansa simply put on a polite smile as he took her hand and placed a kiss on it. He was smiling too, yet somehow his smile had no friendliness to it. It reminded her of the way Joffrey had always smiled- wary, hungry eyes taking in every inch of her being and sharp teeth bared like a warning that she stood in the presence of a beast.

  
  
  


A little later that day Sansa found herself walking in the courtyard on her own. She wasn’t walking to any place in particular, she simply wanted to enjoy being back home, feeling the cool wind in her hair as she moved among familiar walls. Lost in thought Sansa almost jumped as she heard a voice behind her.

“I like your dress”, she turned around to meet eyes with a smiling girl, “who made it for you?”

“I made it myself”, Sansa replied, almost tripping over her own words. She looked down at herself, frowning slightly as she took in how very different she looked now than how she used to. The happy and bright colours of her old dresses had been replaced with heavy dark ones, even the beautiful Tully hair colour she’d always been proud of was now hidden underneath black dye.

 

Realising the other girl was looking at her expectantly, she quickly continued their conversation, “who- who are you?”

“I’m Myranda”, the girl said, her head bowed slightly, “the kennel master's daughter”, with a polite smile she reached out for Sansa’s arm, “may I?”

Reluctantly, Sansa let her expect the sleeve of her dress. Myranda was only complimenting her but something about the girl didn’t seem right. Sansa quickly shrugged it off as nothing; she’d just have to get used to seeing strangers walk around her home.

“Wonderful stitching”, Myranda muttered, carefully moving her fingers over the fabric, “who taught you?”

Immediately, Sansa tensed up, “...my mother.”

She quickly pulled her arm away, feeling a wave of discomfort washing over her.

“I’m sorry”, Myranda replied as she noticed the change in her demeanor, “...for what happened to her.”

“Thank you”, Sansa was surprised over how hollow her own voice sounded.

 

There was a moment of tense silence between them before Myranda spoke again, “it’s good that she taught you. It was a gift”, she smiled in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere between them, “now everytime you wear something you made you can remember her.”

“I’d rather have a mother”, Sansa said bitterly.

“I know it’s not the same...”, Myranda looked at the ground, “so it’s good to remember, the way things were. Oh”, she looked up again, smiling apologetically, “I almost forgot. There’s something else to help you remember.”

 

Sansa raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding what the girl was talking about. Still, she’d awoken her curiosity, so she followed her. She quickly realised that they were heading towards the kennels, which only confused her more. Without explaining anything, Myranda proceeded to open the kennel door, gesturing inside with a big smile, “down there, at the end.”

Sansa hesitated, “which is it?”

 

It must be a wolf, she thought. Somehow one of the direwolves made its way back to Winterfell. Maybe Bran’s wolf Summer or Rickon’s Shaggydog. What else could there be in a kennel that would make her remember something? Perhaps she’d even find Nymeria, Arya’s wolf that had bitten Joffrey so long ago and disappeared in the woods. Her heart ached as she thought of her own beloved Lady who had lost her life that day.

Myranda’s smile turned into a grin, making a shiver run down Sansa’s back, “that would spoil the surprise”, she pointed to the kennels again, “go ahead, it’s perfectly safe”, there was a strange sparkle in her blue eyes that Sansa did not like at all, “you won’t  _ believe  _ it when you see it.”

 

Reluctantly, Sansa entered the row of kennels. Behind the bars huge black dogs began barking. Looking back, she noticed that Myranda was gone. Gulping nervously Sansa made her way through the row of cages, ignoring the aggressive barking. Those dogs… there was something off about them, the way they watched her made her feel rather uneasy.

As she reached the end of the row she noticed a figure sleeping in an open cage, a figure that looked very human. The man, who appeared to be sleeping, was curled up and dressed in dirty rags, tangled locks hiding his face. She took a step closer but immediately backed away as the man suddenly jolted his head up.

Her eyes widened as she realised who lay in front of her. The once familiar features were worn, he looked sick and somehow far older than she remembered. But there was no doubt it was him, “...Theon?”

The man frantically shook his head, staring at her in utter shock. As Sansa took in more of his sight, her eyes fell onto one of his hands. His fingers were long and bony but what truly made her feel sick was the fact there were only four of them left. When Theon noticed her staring, he quickly tucked his hand away, looking at her with despair displayed on his face, “...you shouldn’t be here.”

 

Frightened, angry and sick to her stomach Sansa turned on her heels and left the kennels. She didn’t know how to feel about what she’d just seen- she did not even understand it fully. What she knew was, this was the Boltons’ fault. Whatever horrible thing had turned the once arrogant Prince of Pyke into  _ this  _ had been caused by the man she was supposed to marry. How could she be sure he wouldn’t hurt her? Who could guarantee that she was safe with the Boltons?

Taking a deep breath Sansa realised, that the only one able to save her was herself. If she did not want to meet a terrible fate, she would have to take matters in her own hands and find a way to deal with Ramsay Bolton. She remembered her time back at King’s Landing and how easy it had been for Margaery Tyrell to deal with a monster like Joffrey. She’d practically wrapped him around her finger, knowing exactly how to talk to him in order to get her own advantage from it. Sansa had watched her, and she had learned.

With newfound determination Sansa reminded herself that she was a Stark of Winterfell. This was her home. She wouldn’t let herself be scared by the Boltons, no, she’d rule them. And without further hesitation Sansa walked back to the castle, looking for her betrothed.


	2. Chapter 1

She found Ramsay in his chambers, hunched over a map of Westeros and drawing small crosses all over the North. When he heard her approaching he immediately raised his head, pale eyes the colour of ice watching her.

“Lady Sansa”, he said in a tone as sweet as sugar, “what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to my rooms?”

Sansa forced herself to smile, hoping she looked convincing enough, “I wanted to see my future husband. We’re going to be man and wife soon, so I figured it would be best if we got to know each other a little better.”

Ramsay laughed, but there was a hint of mockery in his voice, “my lady, I believe you’ll like me more the less you know about me.”

 

Sansa would have loved to just agree with him and leave again but she’d promised to herself she’d at least try to get along with the man. So instead of running away she stood her ground.

“I visited the kennels earlier”, she said, hoping to wake his interest that way, “and I… discovered a person sleeping there.”

“Oh, really?”, Ramsay tilted his head, a grin forming on his lips.

Sansa nodded, trying to keep her tone nonchalant, “I might be wrong but he looked a lot like Theon Greyjoy. He made me curious, so… I thought maybe you might be able to explain to me what happened to him.”

 

“It was a good decision to come to me with your questions”, Ramsay said, getting up from his seat to meet her on eye level, “you’re right Lady Sansa, the man you’ve seen is Theon Greyjoy. Well,  _ was,  _ before I captured him. His new name is Reek, I keep him as a servant.”

Sansa pretended his words didn’t make her stomach turn, “he killed my brothers, it’s what he deserves. Perhaps I should thank you for turning him into.. this.”

“Well, you’re very welcome, my lady”, his eyes shone with amusement, “I certainly had fun breaking him down.”

 

“So…”, Sansa said, trying to find a lighter topic to talk about, “why don’t you tell me something about yourself? You’ve only had the Bolton name for a short time now, right? It must have been an honour to be given your father’s name”, she smiled, “you know, my brother Jon-”

“I am not interested to hear about your bastard brother”, Ramsay interrupted her. The grin had vanished from his face, replaced by a scowl, “it was no honour to be legitimised, it was my right. I am Roose Bolton’s only son and heir, I should have gotten that name far sooner.”

“I’m sorry”, Sansa said quickly, “I didn’t mean to anger you”, realising her apology didn’t change his sudden mood swing, she added, “I agree with you, actually. I don’t understand why your father did not see your prowess sooner, I only need to look at you to see that you’re a true Bolton.”

Ramsay eyed her suspiciously, “what are you trying to gain from this conversation?”

 

“Nothing”, Sansa met his icy glare with a confident blue gaze, “as I said, I want to get to know my future husband.”   
Ramsay went silent, observing her with furrowed brows. She could have sworn there was a hint of fascination written on his face. Taking a deep breath she hoped that was a good sign- she had yet to figure out how to read the man’s body language, but something told her a fascinated look was better than a bored one.

“You’re a compelling girl, Lady Sansa”, he said finally, a wicked smile on his lips, “I can’t wait to learn more about my future wife.”

  
  
  


In the evening they shared dinner with Roose and his wife Walda. 

“I trust you find your chambers suitable, my lady?”, Roose asked, courteous as ever.

Sansa still had trouble even looking at him without letting her anger and disgust show, but she took a deep breath and nodded, “yes, thank you my lord.”

To her right, Ramsay leaned over to pour some wine into her cup, “allow me.”

With a wide smile he then turned to Walda, repeating the same for her, “mother.”   
Walda returned his smile, “thank you, Ramsay.”

Pushing his chair back, Ramsay stood up, raising his cup to deliver a small speech.

 

“My lady”, he began, directly addressing Sansa, his icy eyes watching her, “we are all a family, we northerners. Our blood ties go back thousands of years. So I’d like to drink to our wedding”, his smile turned to a grin, “may our happiness spread from Moat Cailin to the Last Hearth.”

“To your wedding”, Roose said, raising his cup.

Walda followed his example, “to your wedding.”

“To our wedding”, Sansa said with a smile that lacked any warmth, “may Winterfell return to its old glory under our rule.”

  
  
  


Later on, when Ramsay called for more wine, no other than Theon entered the room. He was wearing servant’s clothing, his head lowered as he slowly shuffled closer. Sansa felt weird watching him like this- it was as if he was an entirely different person.

“I’m aware the two of you have reunited already”, Ramsay said with a big smile, “but I figured it might be a good idea if you spoke again. After all, it’s been a long time and there are certain less pleasant things that you need to talk about. Isn’t that right, Reek?”

Theon- no, Reek, Sansa would have to get used to that name- did not reply, instead just keeping his eyes focussed on the ground.

“My lady, I believe Reek owes you an apology. Don’t you think so too?”, he waved Reek closer, “apologise to Lady Sansa for what you did. For murdering her brothers.”

 

“That’s not necessary”, Sansa said, “I do not want to hear how sorry he is or how much he regrets it. I can  _ see  _ how much he’s regretting and that says more than any apology ever could.”

Ramsay did not look too pleased with her reply, “oh, but I think he should apologise anyways. And look you in the eyes to show he  _ means  _ it.”   
“An apology won’t bring back my brothers”, Sansa said sharply, her blue glare almost as icy as Ramsay’s own, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Ramsay met her eyes, apparently expecting her to look away first but the anger growing inside her made her stubborn enough to endure it. When he realised Sansa was not intimidated by him, he frowned.

 

For a moment, the entire table was silent. Then Sansa broke the silence, clearing her throat and smiling at her betrothed, “well, this is getting quite… tense. Thank you, Ramsay, for your offer of an apology but I’ll have to decline.”   
“I understand, my lady”, Ramsay replied with a bitter tone to his voice, “but since Reek is here, there is a different matter that needs to be addressed”, immediately a sly smile returned to his face, “the two of you grew up together, isn’t that right? Well with him having murdered your brothers and the rest of your family gone… Reek here is the nearest thing to a living kin that you have left”, his eyes shone with cruel amusement, “Reek! You will give away the bride.”   
Sansa frowned, utterly confused by this sudden idea of his.

“Well, someone has to”, he explained, “and who would be better suited? Good?”, he turned to his father, seeking approval, “good?”

 

Roose just sighed, not wanting to stretch out the topic any further, “yes, yes, very good.”

“Wonderful”, Ramsay took a sip from his wine.

Sansa, realising she couldn’t reason with anyone over this hasty decision, put on a smile, “you seem to be really excited for our wedding if you think it through like that. What a considerate betrothed you are, Ramsay. I hope you’re going to be just as considerate once we’re married?”

Ramsay gave her a gleeful grin, “believe me, Lady Sansa. I will try my best to be a good husband.”


	3. Chapter 2

The next day was the day of Sansa’s wedding. She’d been told the ceremony would take place in the evening, which left her almost an entire day to try and learn more about her betrothed.

Sansa felt uneasy when she thought about her second wedding getting closer and closer. When she was a little girl she had always dreamed that her wedding would be perfect, that she’d live a fairytale life with a handsome knight or prince and live happily ever after. But that dream had already been crushed when the queen had married her off to Tyrion Lannister. She did not hate Tyrion- he had been forced into this marriage as well and he’d still been patient and kind with her- but the Imp was still far from the fairytale prince she’d always wished for. Now with Ramsay, it weren’t his looks that made her queasy- it was his personality.

 

Lord Tyrion had been gentle, never touching her when she didn’t want it. Ramsay, however… Ramsay looked at her like he could not wait to devour her. She was certain he would not have the same patience with her as Tyrion had.

Not wanting to plague herself with further thoughts on that topic, Sansa went looking for her betrothed.

It did not take long to find him, as his angry snarl could be heard all the way across the courtyard, “ _ Reek. _ Give me another arrow.”

There he was, in the middle of the yard, shooting arrows at a training target with such force he almost knocked it over.

 

“Here you are”, Sansa said, stepping closer. Ramsay looked up, his eyes glowing with fury, “you look upset, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing of interest to you”, Ramsay replied curtly, turning his attention back to his bow and arrow.

“Please tell me”, Sansa insisted, “I want to know what is troubling you, maybe I can help.”

Ramsay let out a bitter laugh, “my father told me he got his oh so precious wife pregnant. Can you make a pregnancy undone? I don’t think so.”

Sansa frowned, “and which part of that is upsetting you? That you’re no longer his only child or that the child is not a bastard?”

Ramsay did not reply. He drew another arrow, aimed… and lowered his bow.

“I’m not sure”, he admitted, “I mean, he made me a Bolton, I’m still his heir. And maybe that baby turns out to be a girl after all”, he threw his bow to the ground in frustration, “I guess it was just that condescending tone in which he said it that made me angry.”

 

“Do you fear that your father might decide to make a legitimate son his heir?”, Sansa smiled, “you’re marrying the heir to Winterfell. Even if he did so, you’d be the Lord of this castle. Your children will have more right to Winterfell than any sibling of yours ever could have.”

Ramsay frowned, looking at her, “you might be right, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa leaned down, picking up his bow and examining it, “so, you like archery?”, she nodded over to the target, which had multiple arrows still stuck in it, most close to or directly in the center, “you’re pretty good, it seems.”

“‘ _ Pretty good’ _ ?”, Ramsay huffed, “I’m one of the best, I never miss.”

 

“Can you teach me?”

He raised an eyebrow, watching as Sansa turned the bow in her hands, “you want to learn how to use a longbow?”

“Yes”, Sansa nodded, “my little sister learned to shoot when we were children. I never thought much of it but who knows, maybe it will turn out to be a useful skill one day?”

Truth be told, Sansa could not have cared less about archery. But it seemed to be something Ramsay liked- or at least was good at. She remembered something Margaery once told her- if you want someone to be fond of you, show interest in them and the things they enjoyed. Margaery had found Joff’s crossbow to be a good topic to talk about, so why shouldn’t Sansa try a similar approach with Ramsay and his longbow?

  
  


“So?”, she asked as Ramsay only looked at her in silence, “will you be so kind and show me? Surely with how well you can shoot you’ll make an excellent teacher.”

Her words brought a smile to his face. That expression surprised Sansa- it was an arrogant smile, but it lacked the usual mocking undertone that almost never left Ramsay’s face.

“Who am I to deny my lady a wish like that?”, he stepped behind her, reaching his arms around her for guidance, “let’s start with how to hold the bow.”

He laid his hands over hers, moving her and adjusting her pose until he was satisfied. His touch was unexpectedly warm and gentle.

“That’s good”, he said in a calm voice and Sansa could feel his breath against the back of her neck, “now stay like this, I’ll get an arrow for you.”

 

Sansa felt a strange feeling of disappointment wash over her as the arms around her disappeared- it had almost felt like an embrace, like a gesture of affection. But her disappointment did not last for long as Ramsay was back behind her quickly, nocking an arrow into the bow, “now you only need to focus, aim… and shoot.”

Ramsay’s hands still guiding her, Sansa looked at the target, took a deep breath and shot.

 

The arrow hissed through the air for a second- and hit the target’s outer ring. A genuine excited smile spread on Sansa’s lips as she realised she’d succeeded, “I hit it!”

“You did”, Ramsay sounded amused, “not exactly the center but for a first try very g-”, he was silenced as Sansa turned her head, placing a kiss on his lips.

 

Sansa never realised she turned to kiss him until their lips already met. She’d acted without without thinking- trying to express her happiness over the good shot and her gratitude to Ramsay for teaching her- and it had just happened.

When she finally broke away, she was still smiling. Ramsay looked at her, speechless from confusion, his mouth open unable to finish his sentence.

“I knew you’d be a good teacher”, Sansa said, “thank you, Ramsay.”

Her gaze wandered to Ramsay’s lips, then back up to meet his eyes, “I hope it was okay for me to do that? I mean, we are as good as married already.”

 

“Yeah.. Yes, of course it’s fine”, Ramsay cleared his throat, slightly shaking his head to collect his thoughts. Then he grinned, “that was just... a very pleasant surprise. I did not expect it.”

“I hope I was able to lift your mood a little?”, Sansa asked.

“You certainly were”, Ramsay nodded to the bow, “would you like to practise some more?”

Sansa lifted the bow, now grinning as well, “that sounds wonderful.”

  
  
  


In the evening, as a last preparation before her wedding, Sansa took a bath. Myranda, the kennel master's daughter, offered to assist her as a chambermaid.

“I’ve seen you in the courtyard today”, the girl said as she washed Sansa’s back, “when you were with Ramsay. I wouldn’t have thought you were interested in archery.”

“I wanted to try it”, Sansa replied, smiling, “so I asked him to teach me.”

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the wonderful feeling of warm water on her skin. She’d always thought a hot bath was the most relaxing thing in the world- especially after spending the day out in the snow. It made her almost forget about all of her worries and sorrows.

 

“He’s a great archer, isn’t he?”, Myranda asked with a strange undertone in her voice, “it’s because he loves to go hunting. Do you want to know which prey is his favourite?”

Sansa frowned at the rather weird question, “what?”   
“Girls”, she could hear the cold amusement in Myranda’s voice, “or rather; girls he’s been with. He keeps them around for a while until they start boring him, then he brings them to the woods and hunts them down. I’ve been on those hunts with him so many times, I barely remember all of their names anymore”, her hands scrubbed at Sansa’s body just a little too rough, “ Tansy, Kyra, Violet… so many more. They’re barely recognisable anymore once he lets the dogs get them. Ramsay is always so happy during the hunts”, she let out a low chuckle, “you should be careful, Lady Sansa, I hope you don’t end up boring him too soon.”

Despite the warmth of the water surrounding her, Sansa felt a cold shiver run down her spine as anger burned in her stomach. She knew exactly what Myranda was trying to do- she wanted to intimidate her, scare her. She did not know whether or not the things she said were true but what she knew was, that the girl’s voice was dripping with jealousy. It was her wedding day, she had no time to trouble herself with her husband’s former affair.

 

“How long have you been in love with him?”, she asked, not even looking at the girl.

Myranda did not seem to have expected that question, “excuse me, my lady?”

“I’m talking about Ramsay”, Sansa turned around, her blue eyes cold as ice, “did you think he was going to marry you one day because he let you stay around for so long? And now that he’s going to marry  _ me  _ you’re trying to scare me off?”, Myranda opened her mouth to defend herself but Sansa interrupted her, “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I will not be intimidated in my own home by some jealous paramour”, she flashed a cold smile, “did you really think you were special to him? Sooner or later you’ll bore him as well, and you know what will happen then, you just told me yourself.”

 

Myranda stared at her in fury, her mouth open in speechless shock.

“You may leave now”, Sansa said curtly, turning away, “I’ll finish my bath in peace.”

Myranda left without a word, slamming the door shut behind her. As Sansa continued cleaning herself, her anger slowly cooled down. She started to wonder how much of the girl’s story was actually true but then decided it did not matter. If Ramsay liked hunting down girls that was his business. She would not be intimidated by it. Sansa was a Stark wolf of Winterfell- she was the hunter, not the prey.


	4. Chapter 3

Her wedding dress was beautiful. It was pure white, long sleeved against the cold with fur the colour of snow around her shoulders. The fabric was soft on her skin but Sansa could not help but feel uneasy. As much as she hated admitting it, the stories she’d heard from Myranda made her nervous. Lord Baelish had promised to protect her, instead he was marrying her off to a monster.

Her trail of thoughts was interrupted as the door to her chambers opened and Reek stepped in. Sansa looked at him through narrowed eyes, apparently he’d been allowed to bath and clean himself, dressed in proper clothes instead of the rags or servant clothes he’d worn before. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as her eyes fell onto the fine fabric of his clothing- he did not deserve to look this much like a lord.

 

“I… come to escort you to the godswood.. my lady”, he muttered without really looking at her, “please… will you take my arm?”

He shakily reached out an arm to her, but Sansa backed away, “no.”

“L-lord Ramsay”, he muttered weakly, “he said I’m to take your arm.”

“Please”, he tried again, despair and fright portrayed in his eyes, “he’ll punish me.”

“Do you think I care what he does to you?”, Sansa asked, no hint of pity in her voice. Without another word she walked past him and out of the door.

  
  
  


The godswood was truly beautiful at night. Sansa walked on a path white from snow in between rows of pitch black trees. The only audible sounds were the rustling of leaves and her own footsteps as she approached the small crowd of people that had gathered around the weirwood tree. In front of her Reek led the way. The warm shine of the lantern he was holding tinted the snow in a soft golden light.

Ramsay Bolton stood next to his father in front of the weirwood. For the wedding he had switched his usual brown leather clothes for a black tunic, making him look more like a proper noble.

When Sansa and Reek had moved close enough, Roose took a few steps forward, “who comes before the old gods this night?”

“Sansa of the House Stark comes here to be wed”, Reek replied as it was expected from him, “a woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods”, his voice words were shaky and slow as he tried not to trip over his own tongue, “who comes to claim her?”

 

Now Ramsay stepped forward, a grin forming at the corners of his lips, “Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell”, he looked at Reek with sadistic glee shining in his eyes, “who gives her?”

“Theon… of House Greyjoy. He was”, his voice betrayed him as if it physically hurt to speak those words. In another life Sansa would have pitied him, but her sympathy for Theon Greyjoy was long gone, “...he was her father’s warden.”

Roose nodded, seemingly satisfied, “Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

 

Sansa knew she could not refuse. It did not matter now if she sulked or cried or even got angry, it was too late to get out of this wedding. So instead she took a deep breath, put on the most convincing smile she could muster and stepped towards Ramsay, “I take this man.”

As the words left her lips, Sansa first realised their impact. She was the wife of Ramsay Bolton, a former bastard feared for the cruel stories surrounding him and son of the man that had murdered her family. Even as the realisation hit her she kept on her smile, that was met by Ramsay with a satisfied smirk.

  
  
  


Once the ceremony was over Ramsay led them to their now shared chambers, Reek following the two of them. His presence bothered Sansa- there was no need for him to be there. So as soon as they got to the room, Sansa stopped him.

“I believe you should leave now”, she said curtly, “we don’t need your assistance.”

“Are you kicking Reek out?”, Ramsay asked, clearly amused, “that’s not very polite of you, my lady.”

Sansa just glared at him with icy blue eyes, “this is my wedding night. I will not have him anywhere near me.”

Apparently, Ramsay had not expected such a harsh reply and his smile wavered.

“Of course”, he said, a sharp edge to his voice, “anything to make it perfect for you.”

They entered the room and Sansa closed the door, locking Theon out. Then, she turned back to Ramsay, smiling.

“Are you pleased, my lady?”, Ramsay asked and she nodded.

“Good. I want you to be happy”, he looked her up and down, “...my father said you are still a virgin?”

“Yes”, Sansa replied in all honesty, “Lord Tyrion never touched me.”   
Seeing the doubtful look Ramsay shot her, she quickly added, “it was not because I was scared, I was ready to do what was expected of me. But he told me he’d not touch me if I did not truly wish for his touch.”   
  


Ramsay chuckled, “he might have as well taken the black then. Which woman would ever voluntarily take a dwarf to bed?”

Sansa felt guilty for not defending Tyrion then- after all, she’d been the one to benefit from his kindness. Instead, she let out a little laugh as well, “not me for certain. You, however…”, a grin played at the corners of her lips, “I would not mind being touched by you.”

“You’re not lying to me?”, Ramsay asked, “lying to your husband on your wedding night, that’d be a bad way to start a marriage”, he raised a hand to gently cup her cheek, “we’re man and wife now. We should be honest with each other.”

“I’d never lie to you”, Sansa lied. She looked at him expectantly, “what are you waiting for? Take off your clothes.”

Ramsay was taken aback for a second, obviously not having expected such blunt words from his pure virgin bride. Then he laughed, “are you taking the lead tonight, Sansa?”

 

“Maybe?”, she folded her hands, watching him as Ramsay actually followed her order and began to undress. He pulled his tunic over his head, carelessly throwing it into a corner of the room. Sansa could not help but stare at his bared chest; his skin was pale as snow, his shoulders broad. His toned muscles made up for his rather short frame.

Ramsay, who had noticed her glance, smirked, “a little different from your dwarf husband, aren’t I?”

“Indeed”, Sansa turned her back to him, looking over her shoulder, “would you mind helping me with the dress?”

“It’d be a  _ pleasure  _ to help you”, he walked over to her and Sansa felt warm fingers fumbling with the laces of her dress. However, he quickly got impatient and instead just ripped at the fabric until the dress was open all the way down Sansa’s back.

“Not so rough”, Sansa said sharply, backing away so she could continue to strip off her dress on her own, “what if I wanted to pass this dress down to my daughter one day? Now you ruined it.”

 

Ramsay looked like he had no idea how to respond, so instead of waiting for a reply, Sansa stepped out of her dress and reached out a hand to him, “so? Will you come to bed with me, Ramsay?”

With shining pale eyes he took her hand, letting her guide him to the bed. Sansa knew she should probably lay down for him but she refused to. Surely Ramsay had more experience than her and she was a little nervous about the entire ordeal still, but if she just took things into her own hands she could make sure Ramsay would not hurt her in any way or make her uncomfortable. So she pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him.

Ramsay grinned, “are you sure you’re a virgin?”

“Very sure”, Sansa chuckled, “I am just making sure this will be good. Although you might still have to guide me a little.”

  
  
  


Sansa’s wedding night may not have been as romantic as she would have hoped for, but it certainly was not unpleasant. Her own actions were very shy and timid while most of Ramsay’s touches were so possessive and hungry she had to stop multiple times to slow him down or tell him to be more gentle. At first, he had seemed displeased by that- as he was used to doing whatever he wanted with a woman. But there was also a certain temptation to the red-haired beauty taking the lead, telling him what to do. He soon found himself giving into her orders, his touches growing softer as his desire for her only grew.

By the end of the night, husband and wife lay side by side, Sansa’s head resting on Ramsay’s shoulder. They did not speak, simply enjoying each other’s presence, the beating of their hearts the only sound. Sansa fell asleep smiling to herself- perhaps living with her new husband would not be so bad after all.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally finished work for uni! Which means hopefully I'll be able to update more regularily now. ANyways, enjoy!

Sansa spent the following days observing and learning. She felt Ramsay was the type of person who let his actions speak more for him than his words. There were certain topics he seemed sensitive about as well, so she’d need to carefully pick her words before she could ask him about it.  
She noticed very soon that Ramsay’s mood often correlated with his interactions with his father. Roose Bolton was a cold man, sometimes she found herself wondering if the heart in his chest was made of stone and ice. It was quite obvious that Ramsay longed desperately for some form of validation through his father. Sansa could see it in the way he moved without hesitation when Roose ordered him around, and in the burning gaze in his eyes when Roose scolded him. That look told Sansa more about their relationship than any words could- Ramsay may have had the blank face of a man who couldn't care less about his father but he had the eyes of a little boy longing for his parent’s love.

Of course Sansa did not only study Ramsay’s behaviour; she also listened carefully to what others had to say about him. She was quick to discover that when people felt nobody would hear, they tended to say things about the Bolton heir they’d never dare say out loud in his presence.  
“I don’t care if he’s got the name”, she overheard a serving woman complain to a younger girl as they walked past her in the courtyard, “he was born a bastard and he’s a bastard still and then one day he’ll die a bastard.”  
“Better sooner than later”, the girl replied, “I feel sorry for the Lady Stark. First they marry her to the Imp, now she’s stuck with Bolton’s bastard. She’s a prisoner in her own home, poor girl.”  
“Am I?”, Sansa said sharply, startling the two of them. She hadn’t meant to make her presence known, but the girl’s words made her strangely furious.  
“Lady Sansa!”, the woman said, forcing herself to smile and bow to her, “we never heard you coming, I hope m’lady is feeling well?”  
“I am fine”, she was surprised by how cool her voice sounded, “in fact, I feel wonderful for someone who is allegedly a prisoner, as you called it.”  
The girl quickly lowered her head, “we never meant any offense, m’lady.”  
“Then maybe you should watch next time who might hear you before you speak of such things”, Sansa had to take a deep breath to calm her tone, “I am very capable of taking care of myself and I’m neither stuck nor a prisoner”, she walked past the two, only stopping shortly to look over her shoulder, “perhaps next time you talk a little quieter. I’m sure my husband would not like to hear any of this.”

After collecting information on Ramsay for a while Sansa decided, the man desperately needed someone to show him some affection. Roose seemingly ignored his silent pleas for attention, Reek only ever did what Ramsay told him and didn’t act on his own and that girl Myranda seemed to think she could solve any issue with her body.  
Sansa was aware her husband still went to the girl from time to time. She did not say anything about it, what was there to say anyways? Tyrion had had his whores too and as long as they stayed away from her chambers with this, Sansa couldn’t care less. In the end, Ramsay ended up in Sansa’s bed more often than in Myranda’s.  
Sansa decided, if nobody else was going to simply be unconditionally nice to Ramsay then this was the perfect chance for her to wrap him around her finger. After long time of consideration on what would be the best way to show Ramsay some affection, she decided she’d make a gift for him. It took quite some time to work on it- especially since she wanted it to be a surprise- but in the end she was proud of her results and ready to show them to her husband.

“I have a present for you”, she told Ramsay as he stepped into their chambers in the evening.   
“You- what?”, he tilted his head, clearly confused.  
Sansa smiled, “I made something for you. Wait, I’ll get it.”  
Ramsay stood in the doorway, watching her as she made her way across the room to a wooden box at the end of the bed. She pulled out a tunic, turning back to him. She had truly outdone herself with this; grey and red fabric with white accents to combine the Stark and Bolton colours. On the chest there was an image of a snarling white wolf’s head neatly stitched onto the dark background with blood made from bright red thread dripping down its jaws.  
She handed the tunic to Ramsay, who took his time examining it. His hands slid over the soft fabric carefully, as if he was afraid it would turn to dust in his fingers if he touched it too roughly.  
“It took me a while to come up with the embroidery”, Sansa said, watching his reactions, “a flayed man would not have been very creative. I know how much you enjoy hunting with your dogs but a hound wasn’t quite right either… so I ended up with a wolf.”

Ramsay looked up at her with curiosity shining in his pale eyes, “you made this? For me?”  
“I make many of my dresses by hand”, she smiled, “so I thought I might as well make something a little different for once.”  
He frowned, eyeing her distrustful, “...what do you want for it?”  
Now it was Sansa’s turn to be confused, “excuse me?”  
‘You did something for me”, Ramsay said slowly, “now you clearly want something in return, don’t you? Why else would you have put so much work into this?”  
“It’s a present, Ramsay”, Sansa replied softly, “I made it because I thought it might make you happy. I don’t want anything in return, I’d never make a present only to gain something from it.”  
He was quiet for a moment, looking back down at the tunic, his thumb tracing the outlines of the wolf head. Then he met Sansa’s gaze again.  
“It is wonderful, my lady”, he said, his voice strangely meek, “... Thank you. Shall.. I try it on?”  
“I’d love to see you in it.”

As she watched Ramsay undress, Sansa realised that this was most likely the first real present he had gotten in years- or perhaps in his entire life. Roose seemed bothered by Ramsay’s mere existence so she doubted he had ever felt the need to grant him more luxury than he needed to survive. And Ramsay’s mother… she knew nothing about the woman but since he never brought her up she assumed they did not have a good relationship either.  
“So?”, Ramsay asked suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts, “how do I look?”  
“Good”, she replied, looking him up and down, “really good, actually. The colours bring out your eyes.”  
“It fits perfectly”, he gave her a small sincere smile that made her heart jump, “how did you do that?”  
Sansa shrugged, returning his smile, “it was a lucky guess, really.”  
“I like it”, Ramsay said firmly, “this is perhaps the best piece of clothing I own.”

“Have you ever gotten any other presents?”, the question escaped her lips before she could stop herself, “I mean… for your name’s day. Lord Roose does not seem like the person to make a fuss over presents so I was wondering whether your mother-”  
“No.”, immediately, Ramsay’s face fell. The dangerous gleam in his eyes let her know that this was a sensitive topic, “I never knew my mother well enough.”  
“Well, you haven’t told me anything about her”, now that she’d started, Sansa was determined to learn more, “who was she?”  
“What do you care?”, Ramsay snarled, “my father is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, what does it matter who my mother was?”  
“Ramsay”, Sansa said softly, stepping closer in an attempt to calm him down before he could get truly enraged, “I was not trying to offend you. I was just curious, that’s all”, she hesitated for a moment before continuing, “if you think your mother’s background will make me view you in a different light you’re mistaken. I’d just like to know more about you, and your past.”  
“It’s none of your business”, he replied coolly.

There was a moment of tense silence between them in which Ramsay avoided meeting her gaze. Sansa did not understand why exactly he was so sensitive about this but Ramsay had made it very clear that he did not wish to discuss the topic any further.  
“I’m sorry”, she said quietly, “I should not have brought it up. I never meant to upset you. And I hope it does not make you like your present any less.”  
“No, of course not!”, in an instant, Ramsay’s features softened, so did his voice, “it’s still amazing work. I just don’t…“, he sighed, “I don’t see a point in talking about my mother. She was just some miller’s wife I never got to know, why would you want to hear about that?”  
“A miller's wife?”, despite herself, Sansa could not stop herself from asking, “she was married when she had you?”  
“Not exactly”, Ramsay sat down on their bed, “she was a widow. She’d married in secret, not granting my father his right of the First Night. So when he found out, he hanged her husband and claimed her right there”, he cleared his throat, “that’s what he’s told me, at least.”  
“Claimed her”, Sansa repeated, “you mean raped.”  
Ramsay nodded without looking at her, “I guess that makes it quite obvious why she didn’t want me? She left me at the Dreadfort and I haven’t heard from her since, nor do I want to.”

Sansa sat down next to him, cupping his face with her hands, “I am very sorry to hear about that. I see now why you don’t like talking about it and I’m thankful you told me anyways”, she kissed him and smiled, “ how about we change the topic and talk about nicer things?”  
Ramsay smirked at that, his gaze wandering to her lips, “I’d rather do something else than talk.”  
Sansa laughed, “don’t you grow tired of it if we do it every night?”  
“Never”, he wrapped one arm around her hip, “how could I when my wife is this beautiful?”  
His words made the heat rise to Sansa’s cheeks. She had yet to get used to being with a man in this way- even though she was still taking the lead most of the time. After their wedding night she had expected that maybe Ramsay would try to be a little more dominant and do as he pleased. She was surprised to discover, he seemed to be just fine with her telling him what to do. Perhaps he wanted to continue like this a little longer before he grew tired of it, perhaps Ramsay genuinely enjoyed giving up a little bit of his power. Sansa did not care for his reasons as long as she benefited from them.  
“Take off your clothes first”, Sansa said sharply, “I did not spend so much time sewing for you to dirty them again immediately.”  
Ramsay chuckled, “as you wish, my lady.”  
Watching him hastily undress, Sansa smiled. For someone who was supposedly such a monster, Ramsay easily obeyed her commands. Once he was stripped down to only his breeches, he turned his attention back to her, “are you not going to take your clothes off as well?”  
“I was hoping you’d help me with that.”  
“Oh”, Ramsay hesitated for a second, looking at her with curious pale eyes. Then he nodded, indicating he considered her words plausible, “of course.”

He slid off the bed and knelt down in front of her, lifting her skirts to get access to her boots. Sansa thought they made a queer image- her husband kneeling bare chested while she looked down upon him. She would have thought about the oddity of this longer, but just then the door opened.  
Ramsay turned around quick as a snake, clearly startled by the noise of creaking wood. In the doorway stood Roose Bolton, eyeing his son with a blank expression.  
“Father”, Ramsay said, as casual as he could in the rather strange position his father had found them in.  
“Ramsay”, Roose replied coolly, “I am not going to question what exactly you’re doing down there but I’d appreciate if I could have your attention for a moment.”  
“I was just-”, Ramsay began but then decided it wasn’t worth trying to explain. Instead, he sighed, getting to his feet, “how can I help you, father?”  
“I need to discuss some important matters with you”, Roose looked over at Sansa, “in private. Come to my room as quickly as possible but get dressed first.”  
Without leaving any chance for a reply, he turned around and left the room. Ramsay stared at the door for a second before slowly picking up his clothes.  
Sansa cleared her throat, “I guess that means we’ll have to postpone this until later then.”  
Her tone of voice made him chuckle, “you sound so disappointed.”  
“Maybe I am?”  
Ramsay walked over to her with a smile and quickly kissed her cheek, “I’ll do my best to hurry and get back to you as soon as possible. I promise.”  
As she watched him leave, Sansa noticed with delight that he was wearing the clothes she made for him.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look at that, I actually managed to upload something again! Sorry for the long break, I'm trapped in a bit of a writer's block with this fanfiction.  
> This chapter does not have the most amazing action ever, but it was a necessary basis for what is to come. I hope you like it!

After just a couple of days living with the Boltons Sansa came to the conclusion that she could only hate Roose Bolton. Hate is a strong word, she was aware of that. There had only been a handful of people in her life who she had truly hated- Joffrey and his mother, for example. But she’d always somehow forced herself to remain calm around them, as to not let it show. With Roose this became more difficult every day.

Maybe it was the everlasting grief for her mother and brother she felt whenever she looked at him, maybe she had just gone through enough trouble in her young years to be too exhausted to constantly keep up politeness. But sometimes she found herself watching him, imagining what he’d look like with a dagger through his heart. Whenever those thoughts crossed her mind she quickly forced herself to snap out of them again- she was not supposed to have an imagination this violent. Sure, Bolton would deserve a slow and painful death. But she should not  _ imagine  _ that sort of scenario, especially not in detail.

 

It wasn’t just the murder of her family that made Sansa hate Roose Bolton though, it was also the way he treated his son. She was aware Ramsay was not the easiest person to be around- he was stubborn and thick-headed and egocentric. But there was a high chance he was like this because of the way he’d been raised. Roose had done an awful job being a parent and he was not doing any better now. He treated Ramsay barely any different from a servant- only wanting him to speak when addressed, ordering him around and talking down on him. Sansa had slowly grown to like her husband and watching him get mistreated like this made anger boil up inside her.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, Ramsay could be a better person if only Roose was gone. But there was no way to get rid of him, was there? She’d never be foolish enough to try and kill him herself- Ramsay, as bad as his relationship to his father was- would never forgive her. Hiring someone to do it for her would not be any more effective. Unless… unless she could somehow convince Ramsay to do it.

It would not be an easy thing to do that- somewhere deep down Ramsay still longed for his father’s approval. But maybe she could make him realise the man would never give him what he wanted, that he’d never truly be happy while Roose was still alive.

  
  
  


Her best chances to do anything, Sansa figured, would be during dinner with the Boltons. Lady Walda talked about the child she was carrying plenty and with pleasure.

"The maester says it's growing and developing just as it should", she said happily on that evening, "chances are high it will be a boy."

Sansa noticed Ramsay tensing up next to her. He always managed to overplay it with fake happiness and congratulations but she was aware how uncomfortable the thought of his little sibling made him. Usually Sansa would tell him there was no need to worry- but the longer she knew Roose the less sure she was that he'd keep Ramsay as his heir once he had a legitimate son.

"You must be very happy, both of you", Sansa put on a smile, nodding over to Roose, "I'm sure you'll give Lord Bolton all the sons he ever wished for."

If Walda had heard the sharp tone in her voice, she had chosen to ignore it, "I hope so. Of course I'd love a little girl just as much as a boy", she looked at her husband with such a warm, loving gaze Sansa thought she might get sick looking at them, "but this first one shall be a boy. Lord Bolton would much prefer a boy."

"My mother wished for a boy too, when she wed my father", Sansa suddenly felt it hard to keep up her smile, "and a boy she got, my brother Robb. She loved him more than anything and so did I."

 

Walda seemed to have noticed the change in her expression as her own changed to a concerned frown, "poor girl. I'm sorry for what happened to them."

Sansa shook her head, "you're not the one who should be feeling sorry. I…", her words got stuck in her throat. She felt tears well up in her eyes, tears she had kept to herself ever since she had come back to Winterfell. Perhaps it had not been her best decision to bring up her family.

"I'm sorry", Sansa choked out, trying her best to blink away those damned tears, "I'm… not feeling too well. I need to get some fresh air."

Not waiting for a reply she shoved her plate away, got up and hurriedly left the room. The sound of footsteps told her that Ramsay was following her but she did not turn back nor did she stop until she found herself on a small balcony, looking down at the courtyard below.

 

"Sansa?", she heard Ramsay ask. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, "did anything upset you?"

"I hate him", a whimper escaped her throat as she began rubbing at the tears that were now freely rolling down her cheeks, "I hate him so much."

"My father?", Ramsay turned her towards him so their eyes would meet. Sansa was surprised to see concern in his expression, "he barely said a word, what did he do to make you cry?"

“He…”, Sansa took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, “...he did not say anything just now. It’s just hell to look at him every single day knowing he's the one who took both my mother and brother from me!", she could hear her voice crack, "I try very hard to… to not show how much it affects me but… I-I don't know, it got too much all of sudden."

Then Ramsay did something he’d never done before- he pulled her into a hug. Sansa tensed up, confused by his gesture.

 

“Look”, he said slowly, “I’m not good at… cheering people up. I mean, I’m usually the reason they cry in first place. But, uh…”, he cleared his throat, “I’m… sure everything will be fine. I know my father is terrible company, but you’re strong, right? You can deal with everything. So you’ll also manage to deal with a grumpy old man for a little longer.”

“But for how much longer?”, Sansa asked. She let out a long sigh, leaning against her husband. Only then did she realise how badly she had needed a hug. It was unusual for Ramsay to touch her so softly, without any further intent.

“I don’t know”, Ramsay replied truthfully. He lifted her chin so she’d look at him, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, “look… I’ll figure something out to make things easier for you. But please stop crying, okay?”

Sansa nodded and to her own surprise, a small smile appeared on her lips, “okay.”

“We don’t need to return to dinner if you don’t want to”, Ramsay said, “I can come up with an excuse why you left. But we should go back inside, it’s too cold here.”

At that, Sansa laughed quietly, “I’ve spent most of my life at Winterfell, I don’t get cold so easily.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes, but smiled, “of course, a little bit of snow won’t bring down my strong wife. Still, you should get to our chambers before anyone asks unnecessary questions.”   
Sansa nodded, “will I meet you there later?”

“Of course. I will be at your side again as soon as possible.”

  
  
  


On her way through the castle halls Sansa walked past Myranda. The girl pretended she did not notice her but she could feel her furious gaze on her as she kept walking. Myranda was another issue that troubled her; far too jealous for her own good. It made her uncomfortable, the girl sometimes glared at her with such hatred, Sansa began to wonder if she was trying to murder her with her looks. But of course, Sansa would never show her discomfort. She had her own looks that kill and would usually meet Myranda’s poisonous glare with a cool, icy gaze that could silence even Ramsay. Perhaps she would need to take care of Myranda one day, but that could wait. First she had to do something about Roose, and after her little talk with Ramsay she felt that maybe she was on a good way already.

 

She did not need to wait long before her husband peaked his head into their chamber’s door.

“Are you feeling better yet?”, he asked, stepping over to where she had sat down on the bed.

“A lot”, Sansa nodded, smiling up at him, “thank you, Ramsay. You helped a lot.”

A sheepish grin formed on his lips, “I can’t just let my lovely wife stay upset, can I?”, he cleared his throat, “you know, I had an idea. You don’t have to be around my father for mealtimes if we just eat somewhere else.”

Sansa frowned, “what do you mean?”

“How about we go on a little trip tomorrow? We take two horses, pack a bit of food and just spend the day riding around the villages and woods around Winterfell”, he scratched the back of his neck, “of course, we can’t do this every day. But I have some spare time tomorrow and I figured it would distract you a little.”

Sansa was speechless for a moment- she had not expected Ramsay to be so thoughtful, to take her problems this serious. It was incredibly sweet of him to do so. Smiling, Sansa stood up, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, “that sounds like a wonderful idea.”


End file.
